


Nothing In This World Can Be Endured Forever

by Twelve



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Child Abuse, Gen, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Suspense, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 09:17:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twelve/pseuds/Twelve
Summary: Bill is abused by his father; there is no sugar coating the truth. It's all he's known, besides a few memories that are almost dreams, and there is nothing anybody can do about it... right? *moved from tokiohotelfiction.com





	1. Every Story Has a Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic litterally 10 years ago.

Look at what life has given Bill now – a basket of clean laundry and three loads of dirty colors. The washer and dryer shook with work, and so did Bill. The warm clothes he was carefully folding over the dryer made him envy their ease at warmth. His slender fingers worked the material into neat piles, separating them by who’s were who’s. The house, quiet for an empty day like Sunday, was a warm sixty-nine degrees, but still, Bill felt a chill. It could have been the warmth radiating from the clothes he diligently folded or the dryer, but he was sure it wasn't the thin material that hung of his thin frame. 

Folding the last pink undergarment (that made Bill’s cheeks heat up to impossible levels); he carefully placed the clothes into the blue basket and silently left the room, being sure to close the door as softly as possible. He crept toward the hall stairs, watching out for the floorboards that groaned under pressure. Taking the wooden stairs slowly, Bill breathed through his nose, his teeth grinding together at the pain radiating from his ankle. His knuckles white against the plastic handle, he gritted through the pain and sighed relief when he reached the landing. 

Padding down the hall to Bianca’s clearly labeled door, Bill carefully nudged the white wood open with his shoulder. Just as he assumed, his sixteen year old half-sister was asleep in her luxurious bed. Making sure he took great care to stay silent, he put her clothes neatly in the white and pink dresser, not daring to glance any where else in the room. Once Bill shut the drawers, he crept back outside the room, pulling the door an inch from latching. 

Following the same procedure, Bill put the twins’ clothes in their rightful places and headed back downstairs. Glancing at the clock, Bill registered that in exactly four minutes and nineteen seconds, he would have to begin making breakfast. Returning the basket to the laundry room, Bill’s bare feet lead his lanky body across the kitchen to the refrigerator. He opened the stainless steel door and pulled out the carton of eggs in the door, having to lift himself painfully onto his toes to reach. Slowly bringing himself back down, Bill grabbed the milk and cheese also. He shut the door and moved to the counters, setting his ingredients down on the marble counter top. Leaning against it for support, Putting his weight on his left foot as much as he could to avoid hurting his right ankle more, Bill made the scrambled eggs just the way the family liked them. 

All too soon in Bill’s opinion, the eggs, bacon, buttered toast and corned beef were done and already in dishes on the set table. Bill had just finished pouring the last glass of milk when the family meandered in and took their respective seats. They didn’t acknowledge Bill’s presence. Bill left the room as they began to fill their plates. He put away the leftover ingredients and began to clean up the kitchen, trying his best to ignore the pangs of hunger. 

The blonde boy was just draining the sink from the dirty water and was about to head out when he caught the gaze of Jorg. Bill’s breath caught in his throat and his heart started to beat erratically. His head instinctively bowed, his eyes fixating on the kitchen tiles rather than the elder man’s face. 

“Don’t answer the phone, the door or speak to anyone, you hear?” Jorg commanded. “You will tend to the garden and it better be done correctly this time. At six take the stakes out. Got it?”

Bill nodded. _Garden and stakes at six_ , Bill thought to himself. The silence that remained after his nod, Bill took as dismissal and quickly hobbled from the room. Once back into the safety of the laundry room, Bill allowed himself to breathe. 

Sunday’s were Bill's least favorite day of the week. The family would go out to eat for lunch and do something (Bill never knew what they did) until around seven. Bill always stayed behind, doing all types of housework. The last handful of Sunday's, because the summer was at it’s height, was a lot of outdoor work – mostly gardening and other backbreaking work Kathleen didn’t want to do. 

Kathleen was his step-mother. She was a stern woman (but not as strict as his father, Jorg) with freshly manicured nails, a new perm every week and always wearing the newest fashion trends of the season. Her daughter, and the oldest of his half-siblings, Bianca was a spitting image of her mother, the same dark curls, the same fashion sense, and even the same manicure. The rest of the kids, all boys, took more after Jorg.

Heading out to the garden shed, Bill silently cursed his aching ankle. The hot sun beat down on his back as he tended to the rose bush in the far corner. Pruning the dying flowers and watering the large bush took little time, but the sun’s rays were unforgiving. Bill was tempted to take off his large shirt, and just work in his shorts, but he didn’t want to risk sunburn again. 

By noon, Bill was covered in sweat and dirt coated his face from the work. He carried in a basket of fresh fruit and vegetables and arranged them correctly in the fridge, hoping that Jorg would be happy with the fresh food. 

Washing his hands in the large basin in the laundry room, Bill quickly switched the loads over and began the next. He folded the clothes, taking great care to keep them away from the dirt and sweat on him. After he put the twins’ clothes away, he hobbled back downstairs and out into the garden to finish the days work. 

Grabbing the watering can, Bill headed out to the front to take care of the small garden on display. He bent over in front of the house, his hand planted firmly on the ground before he lowered himself onto his knees as slowly as he could to avoid any pain. 

As he began to prune the flowers, he heard the neighbor kids playing in their yard, screaming and laughing with their fun. Bill felt envious, angry even, that he couldn’t enjoy that same happiness they did. He was stuck weeding and doing grown-up work while everyone around him got to have fun and enjoy the hot day by playing with friends in the front yard or with siblings that were nice. 

Bill dared to glance over at the neighbor kids playing, taking in their happy faces. Suzy, the younger of the two kids, was splashing happily in her small pool while her big brother, Andreas, was jumping through the sprinkler set up farther down the lawn with his friend from down the block. Both of their mom’s, Bill noticed as his eyes flickered up to the porch, were watching the three play as they talked.

As Bill’s gaze returned to the flowers in front of him, the two mothers on the porch struck up a conversation about him, though he didn’t have the slightest idea of it.

“That boy, he’s about Andreas’ age, right?” Judy asked her friend, her gaze on the lanky boy hunched over the flower bed next door. 

Christy looked over of Bill, frowning. “I suppose so,” her lips were set in a tight frown. 

“That’s odd. What’s he doing tending to the flowers when the rest of his family just left?” 

Christy shrugged her shoulders, unconcerned with the boy next door. “They say he’s a bad kid. That he gets into all sorts of trouble, very rebellious. I haven’t heard a damn thing from him that would be something a boy his age would do. There’s been no fireworks or explosives, nothing. I haven’t even heard the boy speak!” she gossiped.

“Oh,” Judy frowned, turning back to look at the kids in the yard. “Why would they leave him behind? That’s not right, Christy. You don’t leave a boy like that alone…”

“Don’t know,” Christy shrugged, looking back at the children playing in her yard. “He doesn’t play with my kids.”

The subject was dropped for the time being, and they both returned to watching their kids, ignoring the neighbor boy.

After some time of kneeling to weed, Bill’s ankle was throbbing. He’d tried to keep his body weight off of it, but constantly leaning over plants was very difficult to do balanced on one foot. Hobbling over to the front spout, Bill filled the watering can and began to thoroughly douse the plants. The sun was unbearable and Bill wanted more than anything to be able to join the boy next door for a few minutes, just enough time to run through the sprinkler a few times to cool off. He was no longer shivering, but Bill almost wished he was. He could feel the sun's rays beating down on his scalp and neck, which resulted in a headache and a painful neck. 

Bill finished up the gardening, and headed inside. The dryer was buzzing just as he walked through the door. Moving slowly, limping more than he had since he’d gotten the injury, Bill washed his hands before folding the clothes. This set was much less embarrassing for Bill, though he was dreading putting them away, all the way upstairs. 

He took the stairs slowly, clenching his jaw and gripping the edge of the basket so tightly, his knuckles stuck out in white knobs. As he steadied himself on the landing, the phone rang, piercing the silence of the house. Bill’s heart thumped in his chest painfully as he moved away from the stairs, afraid of falling down them like the last time the phone caught him by surprise. 

Out of curiosity, Bill moved toward the phone on the table down the hall. Picking it off of the charger, he glanced at the caller ID with no intention of answering. **Mr. Gordon Trümper**. Bill, with no surprise, didn’t know who was calling and returned the phone to the charger, carefully continuing on down the hall as the phone continued to ring.


	2. Punishment

When six rolled around, Bill pulled the steaks out. He filled one side of the sink half full with warm water and let the packaged steaks float around. Taking a much needed break, he filled a glass with ice cold water and gulped it down. He leaned against the counter, figuring he had the chance to rest before they all got home.

Just as he finished his second glass of water, he heard the front door open and laughter fill the hall way. Bill’s heart raced. They couldn’t be home now, could they? It wasn’t time! Bill glanced at the clock and panic flooded him. It was time, and he was sure the steaks weren't thawed!

Eyes wide in horror, he poked the floating steaks. Just as he was doing so, Jorg entered the kitchen. Bill’s mind was flying with excuses. None of them seemed good enough, but he had put them in the water when his father had told him.

“Cutting it close, I see,” Jorg commented, picking the packages out of the water and getting a pan from the cupboard.

Bill hung his head. “I’m sorry, I was trying not to ruin them,” Bill spoke softly in a rushed breath.

Jorg turned to him, his eyes wild. “What?” he snapped, stepping closer to Bill.

Bill’s eyes widened. He’d spoken out, confronted him. He dared to raise his eyes, looking through his lashes at his father. He’d screwed up, he was going to pay, and that was guaranteed.

A wide smile crept onto Jorg’s face. “Oh, you just wait…”

Bill was in for it, he was sure.

 

For the rest of that night and the next day, Bill was restless. A looming black cloud of fear stayed above him through his chores. Bill was only thinking of what Jorg had in store for him. He was hoping that it wouldn’t result in the worst punishment. Bill’s stomach lurched just thinking of it.

As he completed that night's chores, Bianca scoffed at him, scowling as she strutted past.

“God,” she complained. “Take a fucking bath.”

Bill's face burned.

 

The next day came and went without any sign of punishment. Bill’s ankle was healing, and although it still ached, it was much less painful to walk on. Bill was able to stand properly to clean the tall windows. Requiring the use of a small step ladder, Bill was leaning over the top, his arm extended, trying to reach the farthest corner. The ladder, old and crooked, wobbled dangerously as Bill moved. Afraid to fall and break something Jorg liked, Bill gave up and left the corner and top part of the window unclean. Jorg wouldn’t even notice.

That night was easy on Bill. All he had to do was the dinner dishes. He was even allowed a small plate for himself. Bill gratefully scarfed the scraps up, feeling as if it was too good to be true.

His belly ached unpleasantly that night. He lay awake looking up at the rafters. His thin fingers were laced together and placed on his lower stomach, trying to ease the upset organs just above his warm hands. Luck was on Bill’s side; the uneasy swirling and cramps died down and he was able to drift into a light sleep.

That night, Bill dreamt a strange dream. A boy with neck length hair had come to him in his basement room. The boy had taken his hand and showed him a new life, his life. A life Bill could live if he held onto the unnamed boys hand and followed him. Bill awoke before he could finish the dream. No light was coming in through the small window over his bed, so he fell back asleep.

Bill’s next set of dreams were unpleasant and choppy. All were based on the same principle though – Jorg and/or the rest of the family coming home before he was completed with the list of tasks he was given. All ended up with the same result: Jorg dragged him through the house by his wrist, silent and angry; to the one place Bill feared the most...

Bill’s eyes snapped open and dream blurred into reality. Before he realized, he was sprawled out on the floor, a huffing Jorg above him and his scalp aching. Bill cowered in fear, the remnants of his dream still confusing the situation.

"Do you know what time it is?” Jorg spat, bending over to spit in Bill’s face.

His fingers gripped Bill’s hair tightly, lifting the boy up and forcing him in a standing position. Bill’s face contorted in pain as his head was pulled backwards. His shoulders moved in pain in reaction to his head being forced to bend as far back as it would go.

“Do you fucking know what time it is?” Jorg spat again.

Bill took notice of the dim light coming in through the window. Bill was unsure if he should answer or stay silent.

“It’s eleven!” Jorg answered for him.

Bill’s hair was pulled tighter in Jorg’s grip, raising him onto his toes to try to relieve some of the pain. Jorg gruffly pulled him out of the small room.

“You fucking think you can get away with sleeping all day, hmm? We’ll teach you, boy. You’ll be afraid to even blink, let alone sleep, after this,” Jorg threatened, leading him through the basement.

Bill instantly recognized where Jorg was taking him. His eyes widened in horror, his heart pounded erratically in his chest. His body reacted without thinking of the consequences. His tried to pull himself out of Jorg’s grip, his hands trying to push his father from him. His legs kicked out at Jorg, trying to trip him up or at least make him let go of his hair. Jorg let go of his hair, but grabbed Bill around the waist and carried his thrashing body, instead.

“No!” Bill screamed, struggling to get out of Jorg’s grip. “Please! Anything but this!”

Tears were filling Bill’s eyes now as his stomach clenched, his throat became dry and his mouth watered in fear. His head pounded with the _thumpthumpthump_ of his heart. His chest became heavy and clenched painfully on his lungs and heart as they neared the feared place.

“Please!” Bill begged, almost daring to call out to his father by name.

They reached the far end of the basement, the part underneath the garage. This end had no windows, was damp and musty smelling. Jorg opened the small wooden door to the small closet in the darkness. Bill screamed, begged and cried for his father to not resort to this. He thrashed in his grip, trying to break free one last time. Jorg used his strength to his advantage as he threw the small boy into the deep darkness of the closet. He quickly slammed the door and bolted the shiny new bolts and padlocks on the door. To ensure the old door wouldn’t give, Jorg placed a coffee table in front of the door, reinforcing it. Jorg smiled as he heard Bill throw himself against the door, his pleas and cries muffled and making Jorg laugh as he walked away.

Bill clawed at the door, his crying consuming his whole body. Violent shudders ran through him, his chest tightened even further and his head seemed to become too small for his brain. Bill continued to pound on the door, crying and calling out to his father, even calling him Dad. His voice soon became hoarse and he momentarily paused. Bill was curled up into a ball against the door, his thin body shaking in fear, tears running down his face and his heart pounding just as fast as it ever had. With the violent shudders, his stomach clenched and Bill found himself suddenly retching the food that had stirred sickly in his abdomen the night before. Acrid saliva burned his tongue afterwards and he spit into the darkness, more hot tears dripping from his face. His nose ran, the mucus running like his tears over his lips. Bill choked on another round of sobs, desperation getting the best of him in the dark space. He cried earnestly, unsure of when the panic filling his chest would subside, if it would ever.

Bill wasn’t sure how long he was trapped in the small space, but he was soon rocking back and forth, whispering words of comfort from distant memories to himself.

“Nothing’s going to get you, Bill,” he whispered hoarsely to himself, choking down another sob as he rocked forwards. “You’ll be fine. The dark will go away… Nothing can get you…”

His fear didn’t falter, even with the whispered words. His chest clenched tighter upon itself as he heard the garage door open then close moment later. He backed himself farther into the corner, trying to get away from the walls that were closing in on him, suffocating him to the point where he couldn’t even cry. Bill began gasping for air that wasn’t there, his eyes darting around the dark room. Faces laughed at him from the walls, appearing so suddenly it startled him. They were so clear, as if he was seeing them in a brightly lit room instead of the dark cellar. They all twisted into distorted, ugly human beings that laughed and taunted him. The faces spat words at him that made him afraid to look at any of them, but they were everywhere, surrounding him. There wasn’t a space in the cellar without a face.

And that’s when Bill passed out. His lungs kept straining for breath, but his brain told them to stop, take a rest and try again when the faces were gone, when the light returned and when the room stopped closing in on itself.

Bill awoke hours later, a rancid smell of sick filling his nostrils. He groaned and sat up, wondering what the smell was. His eyes burned from the lack of light and he blinked the sleep away before remembering where he was. Bill’s breath caught in his throat as his heart raced, his body seizing up as his eyes fixated on the figure across from him. All bones and covered in a black coat like thing. Bill didn’t dare take his eyes off of the figure. He whispered his words of comfort, but the figure remained, so he chanted the only thing that came to mind.

“If I die, it’ll be alright. Dad will find another. He will not punish me. If I die, it’ll be alright. If I die, nothing bad can happen. I will be safe. I will be safe…”

These words were words he whispered to himself in the night after the worst of punishments. He’d come to grips with the fact that death was after him long ago and comforted himself most nights with the thought that if he died right then, never to wake in the morning to do Jorg’s list of chores, that he would be alright. The afterlife wouldn’t be so bad, neither would death, thought the thought scared the living daylights out of him most of the time.

“If I die, I will be alright. I will be alright.”

The strong smell of sickness returned to Bill’s attention once again. Never taking his hands off of the figure sharing this room, he reached up and touched the side of his face. He felt his own sick there and almost retched again from the thought of the vile substance being on him, in his hair.

A new fear, one unexplainable in Bill’s mind, arose. He suddenly turned to the door, feeling the need to get out of the room, away from the smell and the figure hunched in the corner, waiting for it’s time to pounce. Bill banged his fists against the door, screaming out for his father, anybody, to let him out, to _please, dear God, please, save me_. He was crying again and felt as if he’d never get out, never get away from the fears. He’d die here, forgotten by everyone, and never ever cared about.

Because the words did little to comfort him, his right thumb found its way into his mouth, resting against his palate and barely touching his teeth as his mouth accommodated the appendage. He instantly felt comforted by his thumb. He liked the pressure against the roof of his mouth, the feel of it against his lips and how it didn't even touch his teeth. He felt calmer.


	3. Let Out and Consequences

Hair and face covered in vomit, Bill cried. His body ached from the few hours of emotional and physical distraught. His limbs curled into his body, his eyes wide and darting; they couldn’t find one controlled place to focus on.

His ankle ached as it was twisted as close to himself as he could without crying out. Taking a deep breath, the air moving itself around his thumb as if it was a natural part of his mouth – always there and easily accommodated to. His left hand unconsciously dropped to his bare ankle to gently caress the throbbing there. He carefully stroked the bruised skin, his cold fingers playing over the raised bone and the tendons jutting out from the back.

The smell became very overwhelming. Bill held his nose closed with his index finger and breathed deeply through his mouth, just like he used to do when his thumb wasn’t detrimental to calming himself down enough to be able to breath. His body shook with the tears and cold, damp fear.

Just as Bill was calming himself down with his thumb and vivid daydreams, he heard the familiar sound of wood sliding on concrete. 

Bill’s eyes widened. His heartbeat increased, his breathing likewise. His muscled tensed, as his eyes landed upon the wooden door.

The _clink-clank_ of the bolts being undone, locks being unlocked, and hinges being pulled back reached Bill, who shook with more fear than before. The door opened.

Instead of Jorg on the other side, it was Kathleen.

“Come on,” she said curtly. "We're going shopping."

Bill was taken aback. Had he heard correctly? Had Kathleen really offered to take him shopping? Buy things for him?

“Get up,” she spat. She didn’t move from the door.

Bill shakily stood, his joints cracking. He moved toward Kathleen. His head hung in embarrassment. Bill felt the heat rise up his neck and cover his cheeks. Her face scrunched up in displeasure when Bill neared.

“Bath first,” she stated, waiting for Bill to exit the closet before letting the grip on the door go and leading him through the basement and up the stairs.

Bill followed obediently, thankful and hoping Kathleen felt the rush of gratitude he felt towards her.

“Get,” she demanded. “Take a shower and hurry up.”

Bill was pushed into the bathroom and engulfed in darkness when Kathleen closed the door with a thud. Blindly, he reached fro the light switch near the door. Just as he flicked it on, the door opened once again and Kathleen was shoving a bundle of material into his arms and closing the door again. He looked down at the bundle and set the clothes on the lid of the toilet.

After his short shower, Bill quickly dried off and got dressed. He was beyond confused. Why was Kathleen giving him better, and certainly much nicer clothing than he was ever allowed? 

Bundling his clothes up under his arm, Bill opened the door and turned off the light. He dumped his filthy clothes in the laundry room, sure that he would be in there later.

Turning around, Bill came face to face with Izaak. Bill’s shoulders instinctively hunched up closer to his jaw and looked down.

“Mom wants you to get seven waters from the fridge downstairs and put them in the small blue cooler,” Izaak recited, his eyes looking up to help remember the information he was to relay.

Bill nodded in response and quickly did the task, his head swimming with questions. Once back upstairs, after successfully trying to carry them up without dropping one or two, Bill set the on the counter and got out the step ladder. He placed it in front of the refrigerator and stepped up, trying his hardest to reach the blue canvas cooler from atop of it. It was just an inch from his finger tips, if only he could reach just a little… bit… more…

“Hey!”

Bill almost toppled off the step ladder. His heart was pounding in his chest and his senses felt lessened from the fright. Turning his head, still reaching for the blue cooler, Bill’s heart stopped.

There in the doorway to the dinning room, was Kathleen. Her face was blank, mood distinguishable. Bill was frozen in place. What should he do? She didn’t say anything else. Was he doing something wrong? Did Izaak lead him wrong?

“Let me get it, okay?” she demanded, moving slowly until she was next to him. “We don’t want you to get hurt now, do we?”

Bill, dumbfounded, stepped off of the ladder and back toward the counter, only stopping when he bumped against it. Kathleen, herself, stepped up onto the ladder and easily got the cooler down.

What had just happened…?

 

“Are you guys excited?” Kathleen asked, her fingers taping on the steering wheel as she merged onto the Autobahn.

“Of course!” Nathaniel, Bill’s youngest half-brother exclaimed.

Bill felt very uncomfortable sitting in the large seat between Izaak and Michael. They were playing their video games, competing wireless and actively insulting the other. The radio was turned on, the music of popular songs confusing Bill. The others were able to sing along, the words coming easily to them. Bill sat, caught up in the whirlwind of the new situation. Instinctively, Bill curled in upon himself. Surely, there’d be a consequence later for any misbehaving or even for just going. Bill violently shuddered at coming home to Jörg.

Bill tried to make himself invisible as Michael reached over him, whacking Izaak in the arm. Bill was worried. He hadn’t been punished fully for his actions, he was sure of it. Jorg had thrown him into cellar and Kathleen had come and took him out. Bill wasn’t sure if Jörg would be very happy about this. Bill was sure his intentions were to keep him locked in there until he died.

Bill’s eyes closed in pain as his ankle throbbed with the memory. No, he told himself, that wouldn’t happen again. He brushed the memory aside and continued to think about the possible events of the day. He’d never really been out with the family like this before.

Kathleen broke Bill of his train of thought. “Are you boys wanting to go anywhere specific?”

Five boys began to speak at once, yelling out their desires of the others. Names of stores and shops that Bill had seen many times written on their clothes. Kathleen nodded, like she was writing down every place they wanted to go to. She turned off the Autobahn as she addressed Bill.

“A place you wanted to go, Sweetie?”

Bill froze. His heart raced, fear coursing through him as multiple pairs of eyes focused on him. Silence filled the car as Bill’s mind raced. He didn’t know the answer to this question.

“Mom,” Izaak said, “of course he doesn’t know.” His voice was harsh.

Two hours, five stores, and a few handfuls of bags later, Bill felt as if the world was ending. He trailed aimlessly behind the others, trying not to be heard, seen or thought of. Through each store, Bill felt more and more out of place. The clothes were nice and uniform, the store smells official and the clerks watched him like a hawk. He felt awkward following Kathleen obediently as the other boys scattered about the store, looking for things each wanted. Each boy sent him glares in his direction as he sheepishly stood by as Kathleen helped them shop.

“Sweetie,” she smiled, her tone laces with sugar as they headed out of the shop. “There’s a shop just down the road that has some nice clothes for you.”

Bill was unsure. He kept his head low and nodded slowly, more to let her know he heard. Kathleen must have taken that as a good thing as she smiled and turned to her boys laughing in a group.

“Boys, are you hungry?”

Sounds of agreement came from each of them. Bill wished he was offered food, too, as he realized how hungry he was.

“Why don’t you all go down to Fiza’s?” she suggested. “We’ll meet you there shortly. Give him your bags, boys. We’re stopping by the car.”

The twins arrogantly shoved the bags they were holding into Bill’s chest, hissing to him in a low voice, “Ruin our clothes, our Dad will hear about it. And don’t get too fucking comfortable with our Mom. It won’t last long, we can promise that.”

Bill barely managed a nod, his head lowered in obedience. The five boys took off down the street, laughing loudly and waving back at Kathleen.

“Okay,” Kathleen stated, turning and walking down the street, Bill fallowing. When they reached the car, Bill carefully placed the bags in the back of the van, making sure not even to crumple the cardboard for fear of any consequences.

The shop Kathleen was referring to turned out to be a thrift shop and of the only ones in the large city. They entered the shop. Bill blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the dim lighting. Kathleen paused, looking around at the clothing racks before seeing something and heading over, Bill trailing after.

“I simply cannot let you go to school without clothing,” she commented lowly. “Kaden has some old clothes, so do the twins, that would fit,” she paused, pulling out a light pair of jeans, inspecting them before shoving them back among the others and moving on. “But you need something nice to wear for picture day and all. Although your father doesn’t see the point, I insisted. I can’t just let you go back to school with nothing, now, can I?”

Bill almost wished she would. They had every year before, so what was different now?

At the end of the long day, Bill went home with a pleasantly full stomach, a new outfit that was all his, not a hand-me-down/up, and a threat weighing heavily on his mind. Jörg wasn’t to be home until tomorrow evening and Bill was relieved to hear that Kathleen wasn’t planning on eating in.

Bill was sent to the basement early that night, with an awkward goodnight from Kathleen, permitting him to lie upon his old lumpy bed and daydream before falling into a deep sleep.

As school was approaching, Bill was growing more and more worried about way things would go. Jörg had made it clear of Bill expectations throughout school. He pulled out the old threats again, making Bill sheepish and guilty for being treated nicely by Kathleen.

Bill daydreamed while doing the routine chores. He rehearsed the first day of school over and over again. He would wait at the bus stop in the morning, the kids there smiling at him and talking with him like they were best friends who were separated for three months of summer break. They’d give him hugs and tell him how much they’d missed him while they’ve been away. They’d ask him how his summer had gone and then launch into a detailed recount of their vacations in places Bill’s never heard of.

When the bus came, they’d smile and clap him on the back, fighting with each other over who could sit with him. When he’d get on the bus, he was bombarded with sudden friendship, people left and right offering to move over so he could sit.

And when he’d get to school, Bill dreamed as he folded more laundry, kids wouldn’t push him around and call him names. They wouldn’t leave him out of their friends’ circle and they would invite him to play during recess. They wouldn’t call him names and openly tease him in front of the teacher, who did nothing. The teachers wouldn’t constantly be frowning in his direction when he didn’t answer a question they asked and he would be the star of the school, everybody’s friend, like Yun was.

“BOY!” Jörg shouted, shaking Bill violently from his day dream. Jörg advanced on him, his face hard and his chest heaving with his anger. “When I call you, you answer!”

Bill nodded, cringing and his mind racing. How could he have not heard him calling? Was he that deep into his fantasy? Jörg grabbed his arm, dragging him away from the laundry room and through the house. Bill shuddered, trying to pull away. He knew exactly where Jörg was taking him.

No, Bill screamed to himself, no! Not this! What did I do?

Jörg ripped open the door to the basement and tugged Bill down the stairs, not even showing any sign of care towards the way Bill stumbled and proceeded to be dragged down, the back of his heals hitting ever step painfully. Jörg dragged Bill to the back of the basement, Bill fighting to get the painful grip on his wrist to subside, if only briefly.

Jörg pushed Bill from him, watching with a smile on his face as the small boy fell onto the cold concrete of the basement, his head hitting the wall with a resounding thud. He advanced on Bill, sneering as he easily picked him up slammed him into the wall, his head hitting the wall again. Bill closed his eyes, waiting for the beating, waiting to be thrown across the room and kicked and beaten until he tasted blood. His heart was caught in his throat, preventing the muscle from pumping and cutting off his air supply.

“You,” Jörg spat venomously, “will not ignore me.” Bill was pushed into the wall harder, his arms throbbing from where he was held against the wall. Bill soon realized that it wasn’t his heart caught in his throat that was cutting off his air, it was Jörg’s hand closing in around his throat as the older man leaned into him.

Bill’s mouth gaped, his eyes wide as his limbs struggled against the wall, trying to do something, anything to break free, to regain the right to breath. Bill’s hands were immobile as he tried to reach up to claw at Jörg’s hand. The balls of his feet pounded against the wall in protest and his lungs fought against the pressure.

“Do you understand boy?” Jörg spat in his face, his breath burning Bill’s nose. Jörg pressed harder, all but crushing Bill’s neck into the wall.

Bill stretched out his neck, trying to squirm away from the hand, his mouth agape for the breath that wasn’t there. Bill choked loudly, his body fighting against everything just to take in a breath, to live and deal with any other consequence.

Jörg pressed Bill harder into the wall, satisfied that his eyes were falling closed, his body giving up the fight, he pushed himself away from the boy, his hand coming off his throat as he stood up straight. Jörg smirked as Bill crumpled into a heap of lanky boy onto the floor. Bill instantly took a shaky breath, coughing and gasping to get air back into him. Tears ran down his face, afraid of what would happen next. He carefully looked up at Jörg, fear coursing through him, his body numb and his lungs on fire. His throat ached, almost as if he had the worst sore throat possible.

“Next time, you’ll listen to me, won’t you, Boy?” Jörg questioned, his tone threatening.

Bill nodded, his neck sore and throbbing. Jörg, dissatisfied with the response, swung his foot out, kicking Bill mildly in his side. Bill cried out, curling into himself in fear of more abuse.

“What?”

“Y-y-yes, s-sir,” Bill responded shakily, his voice breaking horribly.

Bill was left to cry against the harsh concrete. What seemed like ages afterwards, Bill stumbled to his feet, moving slowly across the basement, his ankle aching and rolling every time he’d put his weight on it. Bill collapsed onto the bed, groaning and curling into himself, his hand reaching down to caress his throbbing ankle.


	4. September First

It was September first. Bill blinked at the date on the newspaper on the coffee table. He was dusting, generally picking up the house and was just about to remove everything from the glass table when he caught the date. 

Was this paper from today? It had to be, he told himself. Jörg usually didn’t leave newspapers lying around after they had provided him with whatever he wanted—Bill never found interest in the newspapers except to know the date. And he only wanted that to have something to look forward to, something that he could find out and know without being punished. 

Even if the newspaper was a day or so old, it didn’t change the slight happiness that filled him. He had made it another year! He was now, what? Bill paused, the slight smile fading quickly. _I don’t know how old I am_ , Bill thought, all but freaking out. His breath caught in his throat and his chest tightened. _How can I not know how old I am?_ He remembered the last time he was reminded of how old he was, but that was… a few years ago. He knew he wasn’t nine, he was sure of that. 

“What are you doing?”

Bill froze, his muscles tensed, his eyes went wide and his breath hitched in surprise. His heart jumped into his throat. He was caught.

“Hmm?” Jörg gruffly asked, his head tilting to the side as he waited for a response. He had moved around to face Bill, perplexed at why he was standing in front of the couch and not working. 

Bill bowed his head, his eyes focusing on the coffee table with guilt. He was in for it, he just knew it. Jörg was still mad at him and had more punishment to dish out. Bill just hoped that he wouldn’t be taken… _there_.

“Oh,” Jörg noticed the newspaper in Bill’s hand now. His eyebrows rose in wonderment. What use did a newspaper hold for him? “What where you doing, checking the scores? Hand it over.”

Bill slowly held the paper out. Jörg snatched it from him, his eyes scanning the page for anything that Bill could have been interested in. As Jörg did this, Bill’s breathing had ceased. His body was numb with guilt and he was sure, so very sure, that he was going to be punished. 

“Oh! I see… you noticed yesterday’s date.” 

Bill couldn’t help but react. Yesterday? He had missed it? Without knowing? 

“Yeah! You missed your own birthday!” Jörg laughed. “You’re so fucking pathetic, you know that?” 

Bill lowered his head further. His chin touched his chest and his shoulders hunched in on himself. 

“Who doesn’t know his own birthday? You’re so pathetic and worthless!”

Bill flinched when Jörg threw the newspaper at him. The papers hit his head and fell in a mess onto the coffee table.

“There! Enjoy your fucking birthday,” Jörg spat. “After you’ve had your pity party, there’s yard work to do.”

Bill closed his eyes and waited for Jörg to leave the room before his body convulsed with a sob.

 

Bill had to mow the lawn, water the garden and trim the plants. Sweat was soaking his shirt and he was sure his neck was burnt as he bent over the flowerbed around the mailbox. His back ached, but his ankle didn’t throb as he rested his weight on it. He didn’t know of any other way to trim the small flowers, though, without sprawling out. 

Nathaniel approached him, casting a looming shadow over Bill’s working body. “Dad wants you to clean the bathrooms.”

Bill sighed and let his shoulders slump. What else was Jörg going to give him to do today? He looked up at Nathaniel what a small nod, his way of telling him thanks without getting into any trouble. 

 

Bill came inside from the fading heat outside. He felt instant relief as the cool air-conditioned air hit his sweating body. Quickly, Bill washed his hands in the laundry room sink.

The pre-teen hurried into the downstairs bathroom. He hoped to get at least that one and the upstairs one done that night. He pulled the cleaner out of the cupboard under the sink and got to work. 

“…Simone! I don’t care. He is my son and—“ 

Jörg broke off. Bill’s eyebrows knitted together when Jörg’s voice carried to him. He could hear Jörg’s heavy footfalls on the kitchen tiles. 

Bill’s heart leapt. Jörg’s booming voice didn’t sit well with him, as he overheard the conversation. But that name… He knew it from somewhere, he was sure of that. 

“No! We have a family event planned for then, so you can’t see him. I’ll call you when—“ 

Jörg was cut off by the other person again, and Bill could easily hear Jörg’s anger rising and his face hardening, even as he stared at the toilet bowl full of blue cleaner. He paused in scrubbing the offending porcelain clean and listened to the conversation. 

_It couldn’t be_ , Bill thought, a memory coming back to him. _There are other people out there named Simone, right?_

When Bill was seven, he had asked Jörg who his mother was. It was made very apparent throughout the years that Kathleen wasn’t his mother and his wasn’t around, but he was never told why. Jörg had snapped at him, suddenly very angry with Bill. He told Bill that her name was Simone and that she hated him and left him for his father to deal with. Then, he sent Bill off to do a long list of chores. 

_If it is her_ , the blonde thought, _does she want to see me? Or is she calling to see if I’m dead? But why? She doesn’t care; she left me here with him and doesn’t ever want to see me_. With the bitter thoughts, Bill aggressively scrubbed the bowl. 

Bill heard Jörg sigh long and loud. “I know, Simone. I’ve just been working too much to come see him and with the family here…”

_What? See who?_ Bill stopped scrubbing and bunched his eyebrows together again. His ears strained to hear more of the conversation.

Jörg’s voice dropped lower, and Bill struggled to hear. “I know he’s my son…”

Bill’s mouth dropped open. Who was Jörg talking about? And with a person named Simone and not Kathleen?

“God Damnit Simone!” Jörg yelled. Bill jumped, his heart racing. “Do you think that I don’t know that!? Of course I know he needs time with me! That’s all he ever fucking needs! I can’t help that you got him and I got…” Jörg was angry, very angry. Bill dropped the toilet brush and backed himself into the corner. His knee’s came up to his chest and he hugged them, glancing fearfully at the door. Jörg had paused a second too long. “… Bill, all right? I can’t help that work is hectic! I pay goddamn child support on time and I see him as often as I can! I can’t help that Bill has lots of friends and things he’s involved in!”

_What? Friends? I don’t…_

“It’s not my god damn fault that he chooses to do those than see you!”

Bill wanted to back up and rehear the conversation. He was so confused. Who what Jörg talking to? His mother? How could that be? And why did Jörg say that he “got Bill”? She abandoned him, right? 

“No, he’s not here, actually. He’s at my brothers spending his birthday there. I am not lying to you!"

At that moment, Jörg came through the kitchen door. His head was down, the cordless phone pressed to his ear and his face was hard. Bill froze in place. His eyes were wide, and absolute fear trickled icily through his body. If his father looked up, he’d see the pre-teen tucked in the corner and not doing his chores like he was told to. Tears were instantly in his eyes as Jörg stood in the hall, frustration evident on his face. 

Jörg turned back towards the kitchen, still making up excuses and arguing. Bill let out the breath his was holding, his heart pounding heavily in his ears. He quickly got back to work, his mind racing from the conversation he'd overheard. 

That night, when Bill stumbled into the basement, his mind was still reeling from the phone call. He collapsed onto his worn mattress on the floor and stared at the ceiling. There were so many questions flowing through his head as he fell asleep, confusing and anger rising with each one.


	5. First Day

The first day of school was never enjoyable. Teachers got Bill’s name wrong, always insisting on calling him Wilhelm even when the roster clearly spelled B-I-L-L, the bullies at his bus stop and in class always gave him an extra hard time as it was the first day and they could easily get away with it and Bill’s reputation was further cemented as the school freak. In short, Bill never liked first days, and the rest of the days were just falling short of being added to his ‘Day’s That Suck’ list.

Jörg had given Bill a turtle neck shirt to wear, to hide the bruises on his neck and wrists. The shirt was a size or two too large and he had to keep rolling up the sleeves to be able to free his hands to cook breakfast. 

After Jörg’s lecture to be good and if he got into any trouble at all he promised to make him sleep outside for the rest of the year, Bill rushed from the house in a tattered pair of shoes that had holes where Bill’s toes could poke through and the balls of his feet hit the pavement with each step. The bus stop was just down the road from the house. The morning air was crisp, on the brink of full on autumn, but still promising the warmth of the day.

Bill came to the bus shelter just as the bus came to a rolling halt. The kids filed out, pushing one another jokingly as they boarded. Bill slowly clambered aboard after, scanning the first rows in hope that there was an empty one. Glares were sent his way as he moved down the bus, looking for a spot where he’d possibly be safe from the boys in the back.

All last year, Bill was forced to sit in the back, where the rowdy loud kids sat. The teased him endlessly about anything and everything. Usually he was forced to share a seat with one of them. That was worse than when he had his own seat. For the full fifteen minute ride, he was punched, spit on, called names he sometimes didn’t know the meaning of, and got his hair pulled.

Bill kept his head down, trying to not make any eye contact with anybody. Halfway down the bus, Bill was tripped. He stumbled, crashing into a seat only to be pushed out onto the isle again. Looking up through his hair, Bill’s heart clenched. The girl whose seat he’d landed in was looking at him in utter disgust. Bill quickly looked away and pushed himself up.

The only open seats were in the back. Bill plopped down into the first open seat, pressing himself against the window. His knees were drawn up to his chest, both because of the wheel well and his wish to be invisible. His arms wrapped around himself, rocking with the movement of the bus. He closed his eyes and prayed that the boys behind him would just leave him alone.

  
“Hey!” a kid behind him exclaimed. “The Jew has new clothes!”

Bill tried to ignore them as they teased him for the baggy turtle neck. He pulled his sleeves down over his hands to be sure his wrists were covered and tried to make himself into a tighter ball.

They kicked the back of the seat and spit on him. A boy roughly sat next to him and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his head back. Anxiety flooded Bill. If they see the bruises…

The boy chanted names and declared how much hate they all had for him thisclose to his face, as if his bad breath would drive Bill away. Bill took the ridicule, remembering what Jörg had told him that morning. The names and threats hurt, they always did. They hurt just as bad as Jörg throwing him down the stairs, just as bad as his ankle had when he’d gotten the injury.

When the bus arrived at the school, Bill stayed in his seat. He wasn’t allowed to get up until everybody else had left the bus, the boys had told him. Bill wasn’t about to disobey; he knew what they would do if he did.

“Jew’s are last,” one of the boys spat, hitting him over the head as if he was a disobedient dog before laughing and walking away.

Bill hung his head, which was throbbing dully. He got up and stood shakily when he was sure there was enough distance between him and those boys. His first day hadn’t even officially begun and the wish that school could be his escape from home was crushed. Bill didn’t really expect it to be anything like his daydreams, but he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointment.

Bill had memorized his room number, fearing that someone would take the paper the school sent him and he would then get into trouble for being late and Jörg would be called. Bill walked through the halls, his shoulders hunched up, feeling very claustrophobic and ostracized as friends chatted and walked together. He tried to stay out of everybody’s way as he looked for room 39.

He couldn’t find it and was starting to panic when the halls became less crowded. The first bell rang and Bill found himself in an empty hall near room 58. He didn’t know where he was, or where he should go to get to room 39.

“Where’re you supposed to be?” a gruff voice came from behind Bill.

Whirling around, Bill’s eyes widened and his mind raced. His heart thumped in his chest and his breathing ceased. Oh no, he’s going to write me up and call him.

“Calm down, son.” The man wasn’t as tall as Jörg, but he was close. He had an aged face and eyes so dark Bill thought they were black. He looked as if he hadn’t shaven in a few days and had salt and pepper whiskers that matched his hair. His suit didn’t match; the pants where a khaki and his jacket a dark blue. The blazer was open to show a pale green dress shirt that was loosely tucked in. The top buttons were undone to show a gold chain.

“What’s you’re room number?” he asked, his voice loosing its initial serious tone.

Bill stared up at the man as he approached. His mind wasn’t anywhere near his room number as his swallowed stiffly. All he could think about was how much trouble he was going to be in.

The man waited for Bill to answer. When he didn’t, he sighed. “It’s alright, son, you don’t have to be afraid. I know it’s the first day and you think you’re going to be in trouble, but your not. I just need to know your room number to help you find the way.”

Bill wasn’t sure how he was able to stumble out the number, but he did and he was glad that the man wasn’t going to get him into trouble.

“Okay, you’re way off. You need to be a few hallways over. Come on, I’ll lead you,” he began walking down the hall and Bill followed him. “I’m Mr. Müller, one of the schools councilors.”

Mr. Müller’s tone had changed entirely. Bill found him friendly, but wasn’t sure he trusted him. Jörg had, on occasion, acted so nice to him, but then was twice as angry with him later. Mr. Müller looked over at him and smiled. Bill tried to return it.

“What’s your name?”

“Bill,” he whispered.

“Any last name…?” Mr. Müller laughed.

“Kaulitz.”

“Ah, Bill Kaulitz, I knew I’d get it out of you.” Bill looked up at him, seeing a warm smile on his face.

Silence lapsed over them. They walked down two more hallways, made a left and classroom number 39 was staring right at him.

“Here we are,” he announced, as if Bill couldn’t tell himself. “Tomorrow, you’ll want to come in and take a right then left, okay?”

Bill nodded. Mr. Müller opened the classroom door and cleared his throat. “Sorry, I kidnapped Bill for a moment. He shouldn’t be marked late.”

Mr. Müller stood aside so that Bill could enter. He did with his head down and stood awkwardly in the doorway. Bill wanted to turn and thank Mr. Müller for not telling that he was lost.

“That’s alright, Niklas,” the teacher shrugged, his voice deep. “Bill, you can sit back by Georg.” He gestured to an empty seat in the back of the room, right next to the kid who had pulled his hair on the bus.

The teacher introduced himself as Mr. Jung, something the other kids made fun of him for. Mr. Jung was probably one of the oldest teachers in the school, and with a name like Jung, it was hilarious to students. Laughter broke out when he turned to write his name on the board, as if they didn’t know how to spell such a simple word. Bill didn’t laugh with the other kids. He remembered last year when he actually understood the joke and he laughed too loudly. Mr. Jung had asked what was so funny and Bill had hung his head in shame as the other kids glared at him.

Mr. Jung explained the new class system and the changes over the summer. “We’ve gained more students,” he explained. “There was a fire in the Zielitz school, so a lot of the kids were sent here. Most of them were in your grade and so we had to add a fourth class.”

Bill looked around the room and noticed a few unfamiliar faces. Some of them fidgeted in their seat.

As Mr. Jung told the class about what they would be learning throughout the year, Bill’s mind wandered. He starred at his desk, trying not to notice Georg’s whispered insults.

“Jew… Hey, where’re your friends, huh?” Georg teased.

Bill picked at his nails.

“What, you don’t have any?” Georg taunted, turning to the kid next to him with a smirk.

It went on like that for the rest of the class hour. Bill felt his insides turning unpleasantly, but he kept on picking at his nails. He wasn’t supposed to show them that what they said affected him, which only made them angry. The year before, they had been teasing him so he told them to stop and they had shoved him into a locker and left him there for the rest of the day until the janitor came by and heard him banging against the door. When he’d gotten home, Jörg was beyond angry with him.

At the end of the hour, Mr. Jung told them they could get to know one another and catch up. Bill glared at his back when he turned to the board to erase his name.

Georg instantly turned to him. “Did you have a good summer, Jew?” A nudge from the boy’s elbow was delivered to his ribs. Bill winced as it made contact with the bruise Jörg had given him just a few days prior. The pre-teen closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. His body stiffened and he expected more to come.

Georg took notice with a furrowing of his eyebrows, but continued anyway. “Did you go to the Alps? Is that why you’re in a turtleneck?” the boy sarcastically spat.

Bill shook his head.

“How could he have, Georg?” the kid next to him piped up. “Jew’s can’t go on vacation, right?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “So why the shirt, Jew? Are you trying to hide underneath it or something?”

They kept on while Bill sank deeper within himself to ignore them. He went to the place in his mind that was safe, where no bully’s existed and he could be happy for a little while.

It worked until he was hit upside the head and his book was snatched away. “Hey!” Bill exclaimed. “Give it back.” He reached for the book that was held high over Georg’s head. He was at least twice as tall as Bill.

The other boys surrounded him and taunted him, each grabbing the book and holding it just out of Bill’s reach. Bill tried to grab it from each of them. He needed that book more than they could possibly know. He needed it to be able to pass the class and to distract himself on nights when it was unbearable.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, just give me the book.”

“Why should we?” Georg asked, now holding the book behind his back.

“I need it,” Bill supplied.

Georg thought about it for a minute. He then held the book out. Just as Bill grabbed it, Georg began raising it over his head. Bill’s baggy sleeve fell down to his elbow, exposing his heavily bruised and scarred skin right in front of his face.

The blonde froze, fear flashing over his face. He looked at Georg, who was staring in shock at the blonde’s arm. Bill was sure they were able to see the fresh bruises in the shape of Jörg’s fingers and the scabs from his nails. Their eyes met and Bill stopped breathing. His throat constricted, his lower lip trembled, and his eyes watered in fear.

Just then the bell rang. Georg let go of the book and watched as Bill immediately pushed down his sleeve, hiding his arm and hand. Bill clenched the book to his chest and anticipated what was surely to come.

But there was nothing. Georg turned and beckoned his friends with him.

He sat back in his seat and waited for the next teacher, fretting over if one of them who had seen would talk or if Jörg would know when he got home.


End file.
